It is the kind of thing you do not get
over. Way back in my mind there was the secret thought, the day I
went up to Mulberry Street, that my time was coming at last. And
now it had come. I had a recognized place at Headquarters, and
place in the police world means power, more or less. The backing of
the _Tribune_ had given me influence. More I had conquered myself
in my fights with the police. Enough for revenge! At the thought
I flushed with anger. It has power yet to make my blood boil, the
thought of that night in the station-house.
It was then my great temptation came. No doubt the sergeant was
still there. If not, I could find him. I knew the day and hour when
it happened. They were burned into my brain. I had only to turn
to the department records to find out who made out the returns on
that October morning while I was walking the weary length of the
trestle-work bridge across Raritan Bay, to have him within reach.
There were a hundred ways in which I could hound him then, out of
place and pay, even as he had driven me forth from the last poor
shelter and caused my only friend to be killed.
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